Mist Rising

by Eve Langlais

  “Are we sharing tonight?” Showing a lack of inhibition, the woman shoved her blouse down over her shoulders, which led to wide eyes on the protesting Bergh.

  Korvin might be licking his chops, but he had the sense to say, “Not here.”

  “But if we leave our post…” Bergh was starting to crack.

  “Ain’t no one going to try anything. Not this time of day especially. Anyone asks why we left our post, it’s ‘cause we heard something suspicious.” Korvin shoved his partner off the fence of indecision with the perfect excuse.

  “I can make it as fast as you like,” purred Anla. The removal of the blouse stole any argument the guard had left.

  It was ridiculous how easily they shirked their post, almost tripping in their haste to get her inside a nearby room. The woman had lured them on purpose, because the moment she disappeared, the hooded figure suddenly reappeared to slip through the now-unguarded door. Someone breaking the rules. Could it be…?

  Before Agathe could think twice, she slipped inside in time to see the robed figure moving swiftly up some stairs to a balcony ringing a massive open indoor space meant to look like a garden. Could this be where they kept the Blessed? If yes, that meant Belle was around here somewhere.

  Find her or leave? Belle had made it clear that this was where she wanted to be. However, that might have changed since their last encounter. Agathe might dislike Belle, but she had to be sure.

  Belle wasn’t hard to find. Climbing the stairs, Agathe noticed the balcony gave access to three doors. The first two stood open, the beds in the room stripped bare. Not currently occupied.

  The third and only closed one revealed a comfortable room with a bed topped with a thick mattress and one grumpy acolyte still removing her cloak. “What do you think you’re doing, barging in like that?”

  “It’s me, Soraer Agathe.”

  The recognition didn’t clear the irritation from Belle’s face. “What do you want?”

  “To check on you. To see how you are settling in.”

  “As if you care. How did you get in here? Guar—”

  Agathe slapped a hand over the girl’s mouth. “Really? This is how you repay my concern?”

  Belle shook free. “I am fine. Or I was. Now, I’m annoyed.”

  Ungrateful chit. “Excuse me for trying to ensure your wellbeing.”

  “Ha. You’re just jealous I’m going to meet the King and become his favorite.”

  “You haven’t seen him yet?” That was a surprise. “Then there’s still time. If you want out, I will help you.”

  “How many times do you have to be told? I want this.”

  “Only because you’ve yet to realize what you have to give up.”

  The girl rolled her eyes. “If you mean my virginity, I lost that a while ago. Or did you not wonder that the baker’s son delivered bread personally every month for more than a year?”

  “What makes you think the King wants you as a concubine?”

  “He’s a man.”

  “And if he doesn’t?” Agathe asked.

  “Then I get to live in the lap of luxury.” Belle swept a hand to show off her sumptuous room.

  “Is that really all you want in life? What of a purpose? What about having control over your destiny?”

  “This is me controlling my destiny, instead of some make-believe Goddess.”

  “She’s real.”

  “Show me proof.”

  Agathe’s lips flattened. “That’s not how it works.”

  “You tried to force me to believe in something you can’t show me or prove.”

  “You act as if we kept you imprisoned.”

  “Do this. Do that,” Belle taunted. “Seems like it to me. Now, at least, the food is better. As are the accommodations.”

  There truly was no arguing with the young woman.

  “You want to remain, then fine. But don’t be crying later if the reality proves harsh.”

  “I’m destined for great things.” Belle’s chin pointed.

  More like disappointment, but Agathe’s conscience could be clear. She’d tried.

  Time to leave before someone noticed her presence.

  She emerged from Belle’s room to find a spear pointed at her by a flushed Bergh, with his pants only half-buttoned. He huffed, “You are under arrest, by order of the King.”

  Chapter Forty-Four

  The cell they put Agathe in wasn’t as nice as the room she’d snuck out of. The stone walls were cold and damp, and the floor had a grate for draining when they sluiced it down. She did get a pallet, a thin blanket, and a warning.

  “Might want to pray to your Goddess now. The King don’t like spies.”

  “I’m not a spy,” she huffed for the umpteenth time, still annoyed that Belle hadn’t said anything to help her.

  A snort met her reply. “Says the spy, roaming around in places she shouldn’t.”

  “Who would I be spying for? No one rivals the King.” No one with the courage to stand up to him but Agathe, it seemed.

  “Dirty rebel,” was the spat reply as they left her to stew all alone in the cell.

  The night proved long. Cold. Damp.

  As she lay on the floor in pure darkness, she imagined eyes watching her, menace stalking within her vicinity.

  She was vulnerable. Alone.

  And the longer it lasted, the more she became annoyed because it was the only thing that could hold back the fear. It bubbled inside her. Threatened to overwhelm until she reminded herself of the worst that could happen.

  I’ll die.

  She’d die anyway if she did nothing. Maric might have given up, but surely, she wasn’t about to.

  Agathe.

  She could have sworn she heard her name whispered. She hugged the thin blanket tighter. Her imagination played tricks.

  Are you going to pretend you can’t hear me?

  Yes, because hearing voices was one of the symptoms of insanity. Or becoming a prophet. There hadn’t been one since the creator of the Void Prophecy.

  How dare he put you in a cell?

  Actually, Agathe didn’t fault him that. She’d have done the same if someone had poked into places they shouldn’t within the Abbae. The Soraers might be merciful, but they weren’t stupid.

  You don’t have to stay in a cell. Or be under his control.

  No one controlled her. As for the cell, eventually someone rational would realize she’d not done anything horrible and set her free.

  Maybe.

  And if they don’t, are you going to rot in that cell?

  The argument in her head kept her occupied until the sudden clanking sounded as a key slotted the lock for her door. Agathe shoved to her feet and shielded her face from the sudden light that filled the place.

  She heard the soft curse and recognized Maric. “Why wasn’t she returned to her room?”

  “She was caught in the Blesseds’ quarters.” That was Korvin’s voice. “We took her into custody right away,” he boasted.

  Rather than be pleased, Maric growled, “Someone should have woken me the moment it happened.”

  “Sorry, sir.”

  “You’ll be sorry you didn’t wake me. Moat duty. And if you complain, it will be the city sewers instead.”

  Not a word was uttered as the soldier fled, leaving her alone with Maric. He looked a thousand times better than she felt.

  Make that a million times. Ever since she’d walked into the Citadel, it was as if it drained her. Made her feel every inch of her body’s age.

  But she wouldn’t let him see her discomfort. She lifted her chin. “Morning.”

  The muscles on his face tensed and flexed before he bit out, “Couldn’t you stay out of trouble for one day?”

  “Is that really a question?” No point in lying.

  “You didn’t even try. You snuck out the first chance you got and went where you shouldn’t.”

  “No one explicitly told me I couldn’t go visit an ex-acolyte.”

  “Y
ou’re being deliberately obtuse. You knew that was a restricted area.”

  “I did.”

  Maric glowered. “I’m tempted to leave you here.”

  “Do it. It’s nicer than my old room at the Abbae. Bigger, too.” Even came with a disembodied voice to keep her company.

  “You have an annoying answer for everything.”

  “Deal with it.”

  He dropped to his haunches in front of her. “Why do you want to antagonize me?”

  “Not my fault you can’t handle criticism.”

  “You’re determined to dislike me.”

  “I don’t dislike you, but I won’t agree with what you’re doing.”

  “That is your right. Let’s go.” He snapped his fingers as he rose.

  “Am I being executed?”

  He grimaced. “Must you always think the worst?”

  “It’s less disappointing that way.”

  “You are not dying today.”

  As she stood to follow, she asked, “Are you throwing me out of the Citadel?”

  “Do you want me to? Because I’ll tell you right now, sneaking into the Blessed wing is more than grounds for it.”

  “Would you really condemn me for checking in on a Soraer?”

  “You could have asked.”

  “You would have said no.”

  “Probably. But now we’ll never know.” He walked for a few paces until he realized she’d stopped. He turned. “Is there a problem?”

  “Why hasn’t Belle seen the King yet?”

  “He’s been busy.”

  “I thought the Blessed were important in the fight against the mist. You’d think he’d make the time.”

  “A moment ago, you were arguing that the King is a monster for using the Blessed, and now you’re complaining he’s not doing it fast enough?”

  “Seems odd. Especially given recent issues.”

  “A situation has arisen that has taken the focus of his attention.”

  The admission sharpened her interest. “Another attack? A Vhampir in the city?”

  “It’s of a more personal nature.”

  The claim stiffened her as she recalled the nursery. For some reason, a shiver went through her. “Is the King taking a wife?”

  “Doubtful. The woman he’s been showing interest in has rebuffed his advances.”

  “Smart woman.”

  For some reason, her reply had him grabbing her by the arm. “Have you ever wanted to marry?”

  There was bitterness in her words as she said, “I don’t need a husband trying to tell me what I can do.”

  “Are you sure? He might keep you out of trouble.”

  “If he tried, he’d find himself in an early grave.” She pulled free and moved away from him, but Maric kept pace—and kept talking.

  “Do you still want to meet the King?”

  “Is that still an option given what I did?” She glanced at him.

  “Perhaps it’s time you spoke with the man and realized he’s not the tyrant you’ve painted him out to be.”

  “Doubtful. Nor is it necessary. I have access to his library, which was all I really wanted.”

  “And here I thought you’d want to relay in person what you thought of him.”

  “A man like that won’t be swayed by the argument of an ordinary woman like me.”

  “Once more I am forced to remind you that you are anything but ordinary.” He shoved her against a wall just past the empty cells. His body was hard against hers. His hands were on her buttocks, his thigh pressing between hers. She could have fought to escape, and yet a thrill went through her.

  “This is hardly the place for this kind of thing.”

  “You’d rather your room where your Soraers might hear?”

  “Nothing to hear because nothing is happening.”

  “Oh. Are you sure?” he purred, and his thigh, hugged between hers, nudged her.

  He might as well have hit her with lightning. Her breath caught, her body tensed, then shivered.

  “This desire between us means nothing. I don’t like you.”

  “Good.”

  “This is just—”

  “Pleasure,” he interrupted, pressing against her again.

  Why did it have to feel so good? She should have had more self-control. But she’d not been herself since meeting Maric.

  Rather than walk away, she kissed him. Grabbed him by the cheeks and latched her mouth to his in a long embrace that saw them tugging at clothes, doing an awkward shuffle that resulted in her being bared from the waist down, her leg wrapped around his hip, welcoming his thrusts. She panted into his mouth and then cried out when she climaxed. He shuddered against her when he found his pleasure, too, and finished with his forehead resting against hers.

  The moment was intimate, and too short.

  They untangled and dressed, both of them strangely quiet. He brought Agathe straight to her room, and seeing the open doors for her Soraers, she asked, “Hiix and Venna?”

  “The Maeder is training, and the other is in the library.”

  “I see,” she said tightly. Nice to see they cared.

  “They aren’t aware you spent time in a cell.”

  “Oh.” She paused in the doorway.

  Maric stood too close, frowning down at her. “Will you promise to not go into places you shouldn’t?”

  “No.”

  “Can’t you even lie to pretend?” He raked a hand through his hair.

  “No.”

  “I have to go.”

  “Then go.”

  She turned away and stepped into her room, when she was spun and kissed soundly.

  “Maric.” She mumbled his name.

  “I changed my mind.” He marched her backward far enough that he could slam the door shut.

  The bed proved a softer spot for their antics, her climax even more intense. She barely moved when he slid from her bed. Instead, she fell asleep and, in her dream, relived the last time she had been happy with a man.

  It didn’t end well. Not that she remembered once she woke up.

  Chapter Forty-Five

  The next few days passed in a strange, surreal blur. Despite Maric’s claim that she couldn’t wander around, she noticed the guard was gone from her door the next day. Not only that, but she had free rein to saunter the Citadel, going in and out of previously closed and guarded rooms. She even made it inside the Blessed wing without being challenged—not that Belle would deign to speak with her.

  Making sense of Maric’s change of mind led her to realize that the sex had gotten her a free pass. Did that make her a whore or smart? Probably the latter because not only did she have freedom but she also got a few orgasms to go with it.

  Seemed like a winning combination to her. Might as well take advantage while she could. She went everywhere, paying special attention in the Blessed wing, full of empty bedrooms. Only Belle’s was occupied.

  Where had they all gone? Was this the result of the Blessed never making it to the Citadel? Or had they moved on into other positions? The castle staff didn’t seem particularly dense. They did appear elderly, though.

  Certainly, too old to use the nurseries she’d found. Eight of them in total. According to staff, it had been a while since they’d had any babies. Apparently, fraternization occurred between the soldiers and the women. Having taken notice of the current age of all the women she’d seen, it explained the empty cribs.

  Blame the sparse festivals, the staff exclaimed. Over the past few years, the offerings had diminished. Why this past year alone, a mere handful of the purple-eyed and their families made the trek to the King’s City. None of them arrived. Lost in the woods. Drowned in a lake. Gone in the night.

  It’s a bad omen, they whispered.

  A bad omen of what?

  When Agathe asked, they sealed their lips.

  Just as they wouldn’t answer when Agathe asked how they’d lost their purple eyes. Did none of them care that they’d given away a part of them
selves?

  Belle was the only Blessed left. If they had to rely on her to fight the mist, they were screwed.

  There had to be another way.

  What did the mist want?

  To spread its foggy fingers.

  How to fight it?

  People standing with fans that they flapped to keep it away? That probably wouldn’t work long term because the monsters would eat those people.

  How could they push back the threat?

  Forget pushing. End it.

  End what?

  That was the question that plagued Agathe. It had her pacing in front of the statue in the conservatory more often than she understood. She had been drawn to it since that day when she’d lost time. She rubbed it. Shoved it. Checked the seam at the base. Why did she think it hid something?

  Her behavior didn’t go unnoticed. Maric joined her one afternoon, sneaking up on her, meaning she squealed when he said, “What are you doing?”

  A good question since he caught her with palms flat, pressing against a stone chest. She cleared her throat and said, “Hoping to find a clue as to who this person was. She reminds me a bit of our Goddess.”

  “Interesting fact, this was the first King’s wife.”

  The tidbit was enough to rouse her curiosity. “So, there’s been more than one King?”

  “Multitudes, but only the one wife.”

  “What was her name?” she asked.

  “Nimaway.”

  She blinked. “That’s very similar to my Goddess.”

  “I’d noticed. One might wonder if they were one and the same.”

  “Blasphemy. Our Goddess isn’t mortal.”

  “Never said she was. And is it so bad she might have been married to the King? After all, the legends claim she left her husband to start an Order that went on to be known as the Soraers of the Shield.”

  “Why did she leave him? Was he a bad King?”

  He shrugged. “I never met him, so I wouldn’t know. However, he was the King that saved us from the mist the last time it rose.”

  “You didn’t answer the question. Surely, the stories mention whether he was good or not.”

  “They do. However, we should always keep in mind that those who catalogue history control the narrative and will have inherent biases when repeating it.”